Sweets, and sweet looks, were studied then,
And both were pleasing to the men;
For cookery was allied to taste,
And girls were taught to blush—and baste.
Dishes were bright, and so were eyes,
And lords made love, —and ladies, pies.
Then Valour won the wavering field
By dint of hauberk and of shield,
And Beauty won the wavering heart
By dint of pickle and of tart:
The minuet was the favourite dance;
Girls loved the needle, boys the lance;
And Cupid took his constant post
At dinner by the boiled and roast,
Or secretly was wont to lurk
In tournament or needlework.
Oh! 't was a reign of all delights,
Of hot sirloins-and hot sir knights;
Feasting and fighting, hand in hand,
Fattened and glorified the land;
And noble chiefs had noble cheer,
And knights grew strong upon strong beer;
Honour and oxen both were nourished,
And chivalry-and pudding-flourished.
I'd rather see that magic face,
That look of love, that form of grace,
Circled by whalebone and by ruffs,
Intent on puddings and on puffs,-
I'd rather view thee thus, than see
A Fashionable rise in thee.
If life is dark, 't is not for you
(If partial friendship's voice is true)
To cure its griefs and drown its cares
By leaping gates and murd'ring hares,
Nor to confine that feeling soul
To winning lovers—or the vole.
If these, and such pursuits, are thine,
Julia! thou art no friend of mine!
I love plain dress, I eat plain joints,
I cannot play ten-guinea points;
I make no study of a pin,
And hate a female whipper-in!
WHAT, What is Marriage? Harris, Priscian,
Assist me with a definition.
"Oh!" cries a charming silly fool,
Emerging from her boarding-school-
"Marriage is-love without disguises,
It is a-something that arises
From raptures and from stolen glances,
To be the end of all romances;
quarrels - moonshine-babes-but
I must n't have you see me blush."
"Pshaw!" says a modern modish wife,
"Marriage is splendour, fashion, life;
A house in town, and villa shady,
Balls, diamond bracelets, and 'my lady;'
Then for finale, angry words,
'Some people's-'obstinate's—'absurd!'s
And peevish hearts, and silly heads,
And oaths, and 'bête's, and separate beds."
An aged bachelor, whose life
Has just been sweetened with a wife,
Tells out the latent grievance thus:
"Marriage is―odd! for one of us
"T is worse a mile than rope or tree,
Hemlock, or sword, or slavery;
An end at once to all our ways,
Dismission to the one-horse chaise;
Adieu to Sunday can, and pig,
Adieu to wine, and whist, and wig;
Our friends turn out-our wife's are clapt in; 'Tis 'exit Crony,'-'enter Captain.'
Then hurry in a thousand thorns,—
Quarrels, and compliments, and horns.
This is the yoke, and I must wear it;
Marriage is-hell, or something near it!"
"Why, marriage," says an exquisite,
Sick from the supper of last night,
"Marriage is after one by me!
I promised Tom to ride at three.-
Marriage is 'gad! I'm rather late;
La Fleur!-my stays! and chocolate!-
Marriage is really, though, 't was hard
To lose a thousand on a card;
Sink the old Duchess!-three revokes!
'Gad! I must fell the Abbey oaks:
Mary has lost a thousand more!-
Marriage is 'gad! a cursed bore!"
Hymen, who hears the blockheads groan,
Rises indignant from his throne,
And mocks their self-reviling tears,
And whispers thus in Folly's ears:
"O frivolous of heart and head!
If strifes infest your nuptial bed,
Not Hymen's hand, but guilt and sin,
Fashion and folly, force them in;
If on your couch is seated Care,
I did not bring the scoffer there;
If Hymen's torch is feebler grown,
The hand that quenched it was your own;
And what I am, unthinking elves,
Ye all have made me for yourselves!"
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